


A Father's Wish

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Eagle and the Cross [25]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Feels, Gen, Happy Birthday Connor!, birthday fic, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor mans the helm one night and has a discussion with Haytham. It happens to be Connor's birthday as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Father's Wish

All was quiet topside, the deckhand to my left calmly kept the time with the hourglass, he would glance at me from time to time, but we preserved the silence between us. I had to sail the _Aquila_ farther from the coast than I would have liked due to potential altercations with the British, it was a boon though, since we could sail faster and with last possible chance for collusion.

I shift my weight from foot to foot and roll my shoulders, trying to limber up my stiffening muscles. Mr. Falkner would not relieve me until midnight. I sighed, weary already of my watch and wanting my bed in my cabin. I twist my grip on a spoke on the helm, smiling a little, enjoying the feeling of the worn wood beneath my palm. I glance up at the stars, remembering a story my mother told me about how they were formed. I find the North Star and adjust the _Aquila_ 's course just slightly. I would be home in a few more weeks, and with Church dead I would turn my attention into hunting down Charles Lee. I grind my teeth at the mere thought of that man.

I hear footsteps ascend to the quarterdeck. "Evening, Connor," says a voice that I was beginning to become comfortable with. My father stands beside me, hands clasp behind his back and cloak fluttering in the wind. His grey hair is tied back at his nape and the wind attempts to whip it around him. He does not spare me a glace, instead he watches the sails billow in the wind.

"Good evening, Father," I reply with stiff politeness, I am still vexed that he would usurp the command of my ship from me in such a fashion. I glance at him briefly before fixing my gaze upon the dark horizon. We don't speak for several minutes, until I could no longer bear the uncomfortable silence. "What do…" I stop, take a deep breath before saying, "What brings you topside, Father?"

"Oh," Haytham says, seemingly startled that I spoke to him. He licks his lips and gives a little shrug, before returning his gaze to the rigging. "Nothing much. Just thought I stretch my legs before heading off to bed."

"I see," I mutter, shifting my weight again. The silence presses between us, like a suffocating blanket. A part of me wants to ask my father various questions, yet another part, the Assassin part, is guarded and wary of engaging in any conversation with the Grand Master of the Templars.

"You know, my father… your grandfather, was a sailor," Haytham says in way of breaking the silence. "A pirate actually."

"I know," I tell him. "I looked into your family during my training."

"You did?" Haytham asks, looking at me with surprise on his face. "Why?"

"Achilles said it is wise to know your enemy. The warriors of my tribe have told me the same thing. It was not… easy tracking down information about you," I say, looking at him, "you are an enigma."

"I work hard to keep it that way," Haytham says, shoulders stiffening slightly. We lapse into another uncomfortable silence and I find myself wishing my father would leave. I have nothing to say to him and he seemingly has no interesting in me insofar as what ends my abilities can give him. I have dreamt of meeting him since I was a child, ever since my mother told me the name of my father. It is… discouraging to say the least. The man I imagined Haytham Kenway to be is not the man he is.

My father walks over to the railing, places his hands on the worn wood and leans over and watches the waves. I have the sudden urge to knock him overboard, get killing him over and done with, but I stay my hand. He could aid me in my hunt for Lee… if he can be persuaded to give up the man. "Your grandfather's name was Edward Kenway," Haytham says, straightening and returning to his spot by my side. "He use to take me to the theater in London, when I was a boy. I barely remember it."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, wary about his motives behind this seemingly innocent conversation.

"We've had so little time to talk, as father and son," Haytham says, "I thought you'd like to get to know your paternal side."

"I do not have any questions for you," I say, defensive. In truth there are many things I want to ask him: does he have any siblings? Did he marry an English woman after he left my mother? What did he do in Boston when not engaging in Templar activities? So many questions, but I do not want to be lulled into a false sense of security only for him to betray me.

"Pity," my father says. "Well then, tell me about yourself Connor? You are my son after all," he looks at me, "I would like to get to know my child."

I sigh through my nose, remaining silent for several long moments. I do not want to have this conversation with him, yet paradoxically I do want it. My father confuses me and blurs the lines between Assassin and Templar. He claims both sides fight for the same goal, but is that true or merely a ploy to assuage my fears and work with him. I look at him and say, "what do you want to know?"

He shrugs, causally before blowing on his hands, the wind taking on a sudden chill. "Who you are, what's your favorite color, the foods you like, hobbies. Is there a special woman in your life? I have a fair grasp on your age, all things considering," he says with a small chuckle, "I don't know your actual birth date though and…" he pauses as if unsure to continue. "I'd like to know, you're my son after all." He finishes, his voice so soft that the wind nearly takes his words away. I hear them nonetheless and my breath hitches. I grab onto the first feeling that comes to me. Anger.

"Why does any of this matter to you?" I snap, tightening my grip on the helm, "you were not there for us! You were not there for _me!_ " If only he knew the full extent of my anger and hurt towards him. There are days when I wonder if he had been there if he could have pulled my mother free of the burning longhouse, if she would still be alive if only he had bothered to be there. I fix him with a furious glower and he actually had the decency to look almost… _ashamed_ of his inactions.

"I would've been, Connor, had I known," he whispers again, "had your mother let me be there."

"My mother did what she felt was right!" I snap. "You betrayed her! Betrayed her trust!"

"I know," he says, "though at the time I truly didn't know Braddock hadn't met his end that day. I knew I didn't deliver a killing blow, but it was a mortal wound and I assumed he'd died before sunset. It was my folly for not following up. Charles' news that Braddock died four days after the ambush came as a shock to both of us, Connor."

"You still used her," I state, though my anger was beginning to diminish. "To gain access to the sacred cave and—"

"I know!" Haytham interrupts. "I know," he says again more evenly. "I…" he does not finish and I wonder if he regrets treating my mother in such a fashion. "My point being, Connor is that I would've stepped up if she had only told me. I had my suspicions but I was not about to pry into womanly matters. I would not have allowed the Kenway name to be tarnished with a bastard."

"Is that all I am to you? Your half-breed bastard? A stain that must be scrubbed out?" I growled, looking at him. He falters, his cool façade crumbling slightly.

"No," he says with vehemence. "You are my son, Connor, and… if you want you can use the Kenway name," he says. "It belongs to you as well as me, after all."

"In truth, I never thought much about the fact that I was a bastard," I say, "among my people the mother is more important. I was Kaneihtí:io's son, nothing else mattered."

"Enough of this gloomy topic, what is your name?"

"My name?" I look at him confused. He knows my name. I have gone by _Connor_ for so long that I almost forget I have the name my mother gave me.

"I highly doubt your mother named you _Connor_ ," Haytham says. "What did she name you?"

I look at anything but him, I sigh, rub my face with one hand and pinch the bridge of my nose. I notice my father smirking in amusement out of the corner of my eye. "Ratonhnhaké:ton," I say after a moment.

"What?" Haytham asks.

"Ra-doon-ha-ge-doon," I say slowly, stressing each syllable.

"Ray-doon-gay-doon," he says, stumbling over it. He looks at his feet, ashamed that he butchered my name. I felt my lips twitch into a smile. "I'm sorry, Connor, but… I simply cannot say that."

I chuckle. "At least you attempted it. Achilles did not even bother to say it." I will not say it aloud, but the sheer fact my own father attempted the name my mother bestowed upon me means a great deal to me. "It means _Life that is scratched_."

"Haytham means _young eagle_ in Arabic," my father says.

"Arabic?" I look at him curious.

"Yes, the language spoken by the Arab people. They are from a distant land called Arabia," Haytham says. "So, what are your hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" I ask.

"Things you do when you are not… ah, working."

"Oh." I frown, unsure of how to answer such a question. "Beadwork," I say, lifting my elbow slightly, drawing my father's eye to the beading on the sleeves. "I do that sometimes. I help around the Homestead. I am… rather busy most of the time, so I do not have a lot of… time when I am not working."

"Really? Did your mother teach you that?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply, a smile spreading across my face remembering the cold winters beside my mother as she taught me how to stitch beads into leather while telling me stories. "She also taught me how to climb trees."

"She did," Haytham says, his voice sounding wistfully melancholic. "I… I thought she might have; given the way you climb. I thought she was the most skillful climber I've ever seen."

"Did… did you love my mother?" I ask.

My father sighs, pacing a bit before turning to face me. "Yes," he says after a moment. "I did." We don't speak for a moment, allowing the conversation to settle. "Did… Did she ever speak of me?" my father asks.

"When I asked. She… _Ista_ … was very… I think she missed you. She told me once that she loved you, and that was why it hurt to talk about you."

"Connor…" my father begins but he never finishes, instead, he looks out at the sea. I wonder if he's thinking about my mother. I wanted to ask him if he still had feelings for my mother but I held my tongue. I believe he did. He did ask after her health. "When's your birth date?" he finally asks.

"April 4th," I say, comfortable with sharing the information with him. He nods and rocks on his feet. I watch the deckhand turn the hour glass.

"One hour before the change of the watch!" he shouts. I sigh, it was eleven o'clock. I had one hour left before I can go to bed.

"Well, I think I'll head off to bed," Haytham says. He pats my shoulder, and I allow it. "Good night, Connor," he says and heads down to the main deck.

"Good night… Father," I whisper to myself, shifting the _Aquila_ 's course slightly. The familiar creak of the ship fills the silence left by my father's absence.

"Oh, Connor," my father calls out, halfway down the steps. I look at him, signaling that I'm listening. "Happy birthday, son."

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Happy birthday Ratonhnhaké:ton! April 4th, 1756.
> 
> I wanted to write this fic, not necessarily for a birthday fic, but just for general. I normally don't write in 1st POV, but for some reason writing in Connor's 1st POV felt right. It was challenging because I can't use contractions with Connor so everything felt longer, but it captures Connor's voice very well.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review! It's Connor's birthday!
> 
> 4-4-2016
> 
> PS: Updated with edits.


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